


Scars

by ScooBiNatural



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt No Comfort, Lucifer Character Study, Sad, canon character death, seasons 12 and 13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 13:57:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16577819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScooBiNatural/pseuds/ScooBiNatural
Summary: Crowley killed Lucifer long before Michael did.





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blablabea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blablabea/gifts).



Lucifer is shivering.

He curses his own weakness briefly.

_ I am an immortal being with near unlimited power,  _ he reminds himself ruthlessly.  _ Get it together. _

It doesn’t help.

He curses under his breath, trying to distract himself from  _ thinking _ . Because if he  _ thinks,  _ he’ll break. If he breaks, Crowley wins and he  _ won’t _ allow that.

If only Crowley wouldn’t leave him alone for such long periods of time… then Lucifer might not be struggling so much. It seems odd to wish for his kidnapper to visit him more often, but there it is. As much as he hates Crowley, he  _ is _ a good distraction.

Lucifer needs a distraction right now.

This… shouldn’t even be possible. Lucifer expected to be sent back to the Cage but this is  _ so much worse _ . Crowley trapped him with these chains— chains that Lucifer should be able to bend and snap with no more than a thought but he  _ can’t. _

He doesn’t recognise the warding on them. It’s not enochian, that much he knows. How did  _ Crowley _ find magic that even Lucifer wasn’t aware can bind him?

The worst part of it? Lucifer doesn’t recognise the wards themselves, but he  _ does  _ recognise how they make him feel. Somehow… Crowley managed to replicate the cage in these chains. It’s a cheap-knockoff, but even  _ that _ is enough to be effective.

And though Lucifer is loathe to admit it… even if it isn’t as strong as the original… just the feeling alone is enough to keep Lucifer in check. He doesn’t know if Crowley intended for this, but being left alone with his thoughts, held in place by the same magic as the cage… it’s his own personal hell. It’s driving him mad with thoughts that he hasn’t escaped, that he never will truly escape. (Did he ever escape?) If Crowley has the knowledge needed to cage him… who’s to say he hasn’t passed it on?

He needs a distraction—no, he need  _ out of these chains. _

He can’t break them… but  _ maybe _ he can let some loyal followers know where he is. Even a lowly demon should be more than capable of bending the iron or picking the locks.

With new purpose, Lucifer shuts his eyes and focuses all his willpower on letting the nearest demons sense his presence. He doesn’t want to extend himself too far however, lest Crowley find out what he’s doing.

It’s a pretty good distraction.

 

{x}

 

It isn’t the chains.

Lucifer swallows a few times, fighting back the uncomfortable lump in his throat. Everything aches, so he focuses on that. Pain is good. Pain is real.

Now he wishes he hadn’t gotten out of the chains because this? …  _ this _ is so much  _ worse _ .

Curse Crowley for unintentionally finding his deepest fear. His weakness. If he ever gets free of this, he will stop at  _ nothing  _ to make that thrice-damned demon  _ pay _ .

If.

That’s a pretty big ‘if’.

At this point, he just can’t be sure. Even if he manages to escape or kill Crowley… his own skin is a prison. He can be free of Crowley but not the Cage. Even if he breaks whatever binding magic Crowley used on him, he will still be trapped in this vessel.

It takes him a few seconds to even his breathing out after that thought.

Never has he felt so… confined.

He wondered how Crowley managed to make this body capable of holding him. Now he wishes he didn’t know. As much as he loves this particular vessel, this isn’t  _ right _ .

If he thought Chuck gave a damn about him, he might pray for help. This is a million times worse than anything Amara did to him. But he knows Dad doesn’t care about him anymore… after all, Crowley wouldn’t be able to replicate the cage if He hadn’t made it in the first place.

All he can hope for now is a miracle.

 

{x}

 

A small miracle does come in the form of a dedicated follower who worked on this warding nonsense with Crowley. Unfortunately he doesn’t know  _ much,  _ because Crowley was smart enough to kill all the people that were really involved in the project.

There’s no one left who knows  _ exactly _ how it works… but this one demon saw enough to have somewhere to start.

Talking to him is therapeutic, too. Lucifer wouldn’t say he’s attached… but he does look forward to the minion’s visits. They are a nice reprieve from the hell of his own mind, especially since he thinks so highly of Lucifer.

He finds himself being kinder to this demon in the hopes that he comes back more often. Even if he makes no progress… Lucifer needs the companionship or he may just go crazy.

 

{x}

 

It’s getting worse.

The binding gets stronger every day, the demon Drexel tells him. Nothing Lucifer does seems to be helping. Crowley’s hold on him only gets tighter as time goes on.

As if that wasn’t bad enough news, Lucifer’s own power gets weaker with it. Lucifer has a theory about why this is, but he refuses to think about it. He doesn’t tell Drexel either… Lucifer worries that if he finds out how weak he is becoming, he will decide not to come back.

Even if this can’t be fixed… 

Lucifer doesn’t want to be left alone. He’s even considered asking Crowley to give him a guard or  _ something _ just so he isn’t all on his own when Crowley goes off to wherever he goes. He only hasn’t because he worries that Crowley will realise just how panicked he gets and will leave him alone for longer. That, or Crowley might go in the opposite direction and never leave Lucifer alone to look for a way to break the spellwork on his vessel.

It’s a conundrum.

His biggest worry is about Crowley’s eventual goal. He doesn’t know for sure… but he gets the impression that Crowley wants him for something. Whenever he comes in he seems to ask for the same thing—Lucifer’s obedience. He will never get it… but sometimes he considers humouring Crowley just to find out what he wants Lucifer to  _ do. _

Which will win out? His curiosity or his pride?

 

{x}

 

In the end, his curiosity wins. He at least manages to give Crowley’s subjects the right idea… he hopes. Though even that little performance felt hollow to him—like a game of charades where his attempt to show them a king only ended in everyone seeing him for the fool he is.

Crowley has won, he might as well accept it.

He is the only one who hasn’t yet.

 

{x}

 

Crowley is dead.

Lucifer felt it with his own two eyes… but the magic isn’t gone. He isn’t free.

He doesn’t try to leave his vessel. He’s already attempted many times before and every time the result is the same. Confinement and panic.

He convinces himself he’s happy in this vessel, that he isn’t trapped against his will.

Lucifer never has been very convincing.

He scratches absently at his arm.

Mary doesn’t comment on it.

 

{x}

 

Lucifer stands very still, closing his eyes. He can feel the tips of the barbs on the angel blade-forged Cage he’s standing in as they dig a little into his skin. It’s good, it grounds him. He can’t panic, or the mild annoyance will become acute pain.

If he stands still enough, perhaps it will stop swaying altogether and he can find a balance where the points don’t dig into his skin at all.

Or perhaps… perhaps the pain will be better.  _ Feeling anything would be good, _ he thinks as he lets go of the cold bar and presses his palm to one of the points.

It draws blood, and he watches with fascination. He presses harder, setting his jaw and watching with morbid fascination as the spike goes through his palm.

Ha, like Jesus.

Then the pain hits him, and his hand recoils. Too fast.

He sets the cage swinging again, and another spike breaks the skin on his back. He cries out at this one, tears forming unbidden in his eyes.

An angel runs into the room, taking in the bloody hand now gripping the bar again to keep him steady, and the bloom of blood on the back of Lucifer’s shirt.

She comes closer, her brows pulling together as she sees the wound on his hand. “Did you do that to yourself?”

Lucifer doesn’t answer her, just staring at the wound and scratching the arm attached to it.

“Christ, you’re creepy,” she curses under her breath, grabbing his hand and healing it before he can use that blood for something.

He barely notices. The pain fades away once more and he feels… nothing.

There’s a disconnect, a layer between himself and the real world… a void.

He scratches his arm more earnestly, drawing blood. He has to get it off, get this damning  _ skin _ off himself.

“Hey! Cut that out!” The angel calls, actually getting his attention this time.

He looks up, then goes back to holding the bars, like nothing happened.

 

{x}

 

He’s good at faking. Faking like he can feel the sunshine, like the cold stings, and the wind bites. He’s good at faking, tricking himself into thinking the world isn’t grey and distant from himself. Like he isn’t trapped in a bubble of solitude, present in the world but still ever an outsider looking in.

There are scars on his arms now, from all the times he’s scratched away at them and let them heal over naturally. There are recent scratches— still red and puffy, probably infected.

He can’t even feel those anymore.

It’s like his skin is a rubber suit… like he’s wearing gloves he can’t take off. Everything is muted… pain, touch, warmth, cold… he’s cut off, there’s pressure but no sensation. None of the joys of contact that he so desperately desires.

He collects himself; faking a smile, too, as he sets off in search of Castiel.

No time to dwell on inconveniences.

 

{x}

 

Lucifer huddled in a corner of his cell. Castiel isn’t talking to him, there’s nothing to distract him…

He doesn’t notice as his fingernails dig into his forearms once more, tearing at his own flesh.

He can’t feel it— he can’t  _ feel _ .

A soft sob escapes him, a sick feeling rising in his chest as he looks at the state of his arms and feels  _ nothing _ .

There’s blood under his nails, dripping down his arms… he can’t even smell it.

“Lucifer? What are you doing?” The angel next door asks accusingly, approaching the bars of his cell so he can get a better view.

Lucifer shrinks back, burying his head in his knees. He’s trapped. It doesn’t matter that Asmodeus has him because he’s trapped no matter what.

“Lucifer?”

_ “What?” _ He bites out shortly.

“Your arms… are you hurt?”

Lucifer doesn’t lift his head. “No,” he answers truthfully, another sob making his voice crack.

 

{x}

 

Anael runs her fingers over the jagged criss-crossed lines on his forearms. “Did you do this?”

Lucifer looks away from her.

“Lord Lucifer, look at me.”

It takes him a while to obey, but he does.

“Why do you not heal these scars? How did you get them?”

He doesn’t have a good answer for her. 

“Lucifer, you can be honest with me.”

He gives her a baleful look, then tries to explain. “My vessel is…” he hesitates, “confining. I was never meant to inhabit it this long— Just leave it be, Anael,” he finishes defensively, pulling his arm out of her hands. He turns away from her, signalling the end of the conversation.

She doesn’t dare try to argue, so Lucifer doesn’t complain when she rests a hand on his shoulder.

 

{x}

 

Alcohol does nothing to numb his sorrows… it only affects his vessel, and he feels nothing from his vessel anymore.

Nothing.

He has nothing,

Nothing,

Nothing.

He weeps openly, and he welcomes the darkness as unconsciousness takes him over following the blow to his head.

 

{x}

 

He pretends to care when they tell him they’re going to kill him. He pretends, but he doesn’t really.

Lucifer is already dead.

Lucifer died the day he re-inhabited this vessel—his tomb.

They think they’ve won, but what is a victory over a beaten man?

Over a fallen angel who lost so long ago to a demon he thought nothing of.

How can they win, when he has nothing to lose?

 

{x}

 

A blade plunges into his chest.

He  _ feels _ it.

His numbness is shattered. He screams, his body burns, and he  _ feels _ .

Lucifer clings to it, to to the embrace of death, to the sweet release from his prison.

_I am free._

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sorry :(


End file.
